Take My Breath Away
by NurseGodaime
Summary: England couldn't swim. It wasn't that he was afraid or anything. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland was not afraid of anything. *Set during Paint It White, the Hetalia movie. FrUK*


If you are anything like my friends and I, you will have noticed just how FrUK-filled the Hetalia movie, Paint It White, was. France and England are constant with each other, sitting close, laughing, and agreeing. It's down right weird.

Perhaps the weirdest scene, however, is when the two of them emerge from the jungle together looking as happy as two cats with cream. So we wondered, what exactly were they doing between jumping out of the spaceship and meeting up with the others? This is probably the most likely solution...

-0-

England couldn't swim.

It wasn't that he was afraid or anything. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, the largest former empire in the world and the fiercest pirate that ever sailed the seven seas, was not afraid of anything.

...It just made him a little nervous, that was all...

He had never had a problem with this hole in his knowledge base. He did not go to the beach for fun and most pirates did not know how to swim. Besides, the weather in his home was too rainy to swim. It would be a colossal waste of time to learn, really.

Today, though, as he found himself jumping out of the Pict's space ship and into the ocean after Germany, Arthur found himself wishing more than anything that he had at least _a little_ idea of how to swim.

Still, he figured that drowning to death would be considerably better than living out the rest of his immortal life as one of those hive-minded noppera creatures.

England hit the water with a splash, but the sound was lost on him as he began to thrash around in panic. Centuries of life flashed before his eyes

Just as he began to black out from a lack of oxygen, his frantic mind barely registered an arm wrapping around his waist and pulling him towards the surface...

-0-

France coughed and sputtered as he dragged England out onto the beach of an island after treading water and struggling against the ocean's rough current for no less than twenty minutes. It was hard enough to keep oneself afloat in the unpredictable waters of the ocean, let alone keeping another, unconscious person above the water, as well.

The slightly taller nation looked over his rescued neighbor and noticed with a small sense of accomplishment that he was still breathing, even if he had not woken up from his brief stint without air in his lungs. He would live and that was all that the long haired blonde really cared about for the moment.

He had always known that England could not swim and it had been an immediate thought in his mind when he and the other nations had jumped out of the ship that someone would have to save him from a watery grave. At first, he had assumed that that person would be America, the self proclaimed hero of the group, but it did not take more than a few moments before he had realized that he might be the only one who knew Arthur well enough to know that he could not swim.

It was not strange that he knew the other country that well. After all, there had been hundreds of years where knowing England's strengths and weaknesses had meant the difference between France's own defeat or victory on the battlefield. They had been mortal enemies for practically forever and a good general always knows his enemy. Now that they were allies, it was still to his benefit to know what his partner was capable of inside or outside of a fight.

Francis looked around at the land that they had ended up on and could not see anything but sand for miles and trees where the beach ended. It did not seem like a place where humans had been, at least not in recent times, but he was sure that he and Arthur would investigate that assessment as soon as the younger country woke up.

For now he would worry about making a fire and some sort of temporary shelter. Tropical islands were not known for their good weather and neither he nor England were known for their good luck.

-0-

England woke up with a foggy mind, as would be expected from someone who had almost drowned. He took in his surroundings slowly, realizing what things were before he could remember why things were the way they were. When he finally realized that the last place that he remembered being was underwater, he quickly sat up in surprise.

"Lay back down, _Angleterre_," a French voice said to his left.

He laid back a little and saw that France was starting a fire and had seemingly already built a small shelter on what looked to be the beach of a deserted island.

"What's going on, Frog?" he demanded without any heat.

"We jumped out of the Pict's spaceship and you, _mon ami_, still cannot swim, despite advice from _moi_ over and over throughout the years," France replied.

"You saved me?" the island nation asked even though there was no other option apparent.

"_Oui_, but it was no more than what you would have done for me if the shoe had been on the other foot, as you say, _non_?" he responded.

And, England realized with some amazement, the more southern country was completely correct in his statement. The two had been each other's closest allies for some time now, despite how they still enjoyed to antagonize one another, and there was not even a small chance that he would have allowed any serious harm to come to the older nation, especially if it had not been caused by him.

It was strange how feelings could change over centuries and centuries of life. For hundreds of years, the two had done nothing but bicker and fight. They were the worst enemies that history had ever seen, hating each other with a fire that could not be rivaled anywhere else in the world.

Hate was an interesting emotion, though. Hate, by definition, was a type of passion. And it was so easy for a negative passion to slip into something else, something considerably different.

Something that made the Englishman get up and move to sit beside the Frenchman as he finished building the fire...

"France?" his mouth said, almost of its own accord.

"Hmm?" the other nation responded, stopping what he was doing and turning to face the smaller country.

Before either of them really knew what was going on, England leaned up and pressed his lips to his ally's lips. After a moment of shock, the more southern nation returned the kiss, pulling the younger man to him further.

Eventually, they pulled away for air.

"Um... Thanks for, you know, saving me from drowning," Arthur said softly, awkwardly looking away.

Francis put his hand on the other blonde's cheek, redirecting his face so that he had to look the taller man in the eyes as he spoke to him.

"I am only thankful that you are okay, _mon lapin_," he admitted gently.

The Country of Love leaned in for a second kiss, this time with him taking the lead and ensuring that it was done properly. There were just some things that a Frenchman knew how to do better than an Englishman, after all.

-0-

Please review! (PS: For anyone wondering, it is cannon that England cannot swim.)


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